Duncanless Origin Artana
by danijou
Summary: If Duncan weren't there to save you from your fate, would you be able to survive the aftermath of the game Origins? Dalish Elf version.
1. Chapter 1

Artana

"_We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit."_

"Get away from that mirror, Tamlen!" Artana shrieked, backing up a step or two. She caught the heel of her left boot with her right toe and fell backwards before the mirror filled the room with a radiance of its vile taint.

Things... were fuzzy from that point. She had found her way to sunlight, somehow. The Keeper – that became an objective in her dimmed mind, to find the Keeper so the clan could know what happened, to save herself and Tamlen. But why had she left Tamlen? How did she even get back out here...? It became apparent to her that she was on her stomach when her hand brushed across a rock in the dust, blood caking some of it red in the fingertip swipes that cut through the loose earth. Her blurred eyes searched for a larger rock to support herself with, to check for moss. If she could get her bearings she would remember the rest of the path on her way. Her body was weak, but at the same time strong. Her legs would work, she realized, if she could ignore the pain. Maybe that was why she left Tamlen. She'd reach the keeper faster alone, and thus be back quicker to help him.

Her hands kept groping half-blindly at the ground 'til she rooted out the base of a large rock. The cool stone felt like ice on her fevered skin. As she climbed her whole body pressed against it for support and she stayed as such for a short time, allowing some of the sickness to be pulled away by the cold. With her eyes closed she felt about the stone, knowing her vision was unnecessary for this task, and it could be reserved. She felt moss, and opened her eyes to get the bearing. Yes, that path did look familiar.

With a deep, strengthening breath Artana pushed away from the stone. On her own two feet the world spun. She staggered like a drunk, towards the tree she'd marked as her directional. At least, she thought it was. The world was spinning.

She walked for hours, but the time eluded her. The fevered mind was delusional, images of dark figures haunting her own eyes that disappeared when she blinked, strange noises in her ears that did not come of forest nor shemlen. Surely the camp would be just beyond that turn. Surely the Keeper would heal her and retrieve her Tamlen. The wracking pain of each step had become a rhythm in her, a rhythm to which she recited that she shall not submit, an oath against her very body. She'd hold it just as dearly as the similar oath as Elvehen in defiance of the shemlen. In time, she heard running water. The strange fact that there had been no river – just a creek – by their camp, was lost in her desperation for drink. She fell to her knees and cupped her hands, taking gulp after gulp, splashing her fevered face. This forest was truly a blessing, even despite the cursed visions that haunted her.

But, wait. That dark figure was not so unreal. She squinted her amber eyes and looked more carefully at the creature. What was that? Suddenly, enough to dizzy her once more, her eyes focused perfectly. It was a hideous creature with dark skin, a horrific face, and armor covered in spikes. The very sight of it made the fever rush, her heart pulsing violently as her face flushed. She felt as though she was going to be ill, her hands shaking so uncontrollably that she was unable to pick an arrow from her quiver. The sounds which had merely haunted previously were berating her ears now in the presence of this thing, and her sight had once again begun to dim. It was as though seeing the creature had shocked her to life once more, and now that had died down. The last thing Artana saw was some manner of black blur hitting the one that she had described as the creature, and then she fell onto her side, there next to the river.

There was no sun on her face when she felt herself awoken by what felt like a tongue lashing across her cheek. It was certainly a strange sensation, do not let anyone tell you else wise. The tongue was velvety, and … wet. She began to blink her consciousness back when she heard a high-pitched whimper. An animal. Well, comforting, perhaps. Unless it was merely testing to see if it would eat her. The animal had rolled her onto her back, it seemed, for she sat up as she woke. The wolf sat back on its haunches, head tilted in some strange form of what Artana could only assume was concern. Admittedly, she gave cant to her head, too. Why would a wolf see fit to pity her condition? But as her eyes focused in the dark she realized something was … wrong about this wolf. Its fur was matted and dark, its face was fierce, and it... had spiky growths along its back. She thought to move backwards from it carefully, but somehow, she just remained still. The wolf stared, and she stared back. Artana had no idea how many minutes were lost to this, but something interesting did come of it. Somehow she knew this wolf had protected her, and somehow she knew that it 'thought' they were … the same. The same, she wondered why that phrase came through to her.

This place was Setheneran. The veil was thin. Somehow, it was allowing her to comprehend this creature. And in absence of fear, all she felt was pity for it. Cautiously, Artana reached out her hand, hesitating by the wolf's nose. It leaned its muzzle into her touch; and she took to rubbing the matted fur. Their silent bond grew as she began to help the wolf, as it had helped her. Though her muscles still seared with each motion, the rest she had gotten had given her energy. She cleaned the wolf's fur with a cautious hand to its injuries. The wolf made no hostile motion. This creature was tainted. It was sick. She understood why they were the same – she was sick, too. Was it taint? Should she even be alive? Did her Tamlen survive as she had? Her head swam with these thoughts as she ground elfroot on a flat river stone and made a paste of it. Both she and the wolf got several applications of the restorative herb. Clean and healing, Artana sat with her knees to her chest and looked across the river she was 'camped' at.

Camp. This wasn't the direction of camp at all. She was lost, and worse she was becoming tired again. Her sickness had faded with rest, but it was not gone. It was growing, if she really looked inside herself, especially here in this setheneran, she knew it was there. Her tribe was probably gone by now, she admitted to herself, as was Tamlen. Hot tears dropped down, past her shallow cheeks, and splashed on her chest. Her new companion moved close and lay its head on her shoulder.

"Lethallin, we are alone. And I am tired."

Somehow, she knew that the wolf understood. She felt like it knew her pain, and knew she was strong to survive this far. It was a wolf, a creature who appreciated such strength and perseverance. And Artana knew it felt more alone than she.

"You have lost your pack." She surmised, her voice weary from her sickness. A whimper was all she needed to find this to be true. But the whimper told her that it was more than that. They were gone, not just lost. The wolf rounded her and sat by her side. They were the same. Artana closed her eyes, wondering if this is what it was like every day for the Halla keeper. "For the time I have left, I will keep you, lethallin."

* * *

Alpha by Sresla of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.

Beta by TanithAerys of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.


	2. Chapter 2

– 2 –

Artana

Author's notes: Alpha by Sresla. Beta by TanithAeyrs

Artana's eyes flickered open to morning light. She groaned, stretching slowly out of her little ball. The pain was excruciating – she should never have let herself fall asleep sitting up. Though she had to admit after the sharp searing needles, all that was left was a dull ache. It was a welcome difference from yesterday, where _every_ movement brought pain. The sounds of the forest graced her ears, bringing a smile to her decorated face. Birds, rabbits, leaves rustling... her stomach growling.

Her canine companion's ears twitched, and he too woke. He gave a few snuffles at Artana's arm and cheek before he seemed content with her well-being, then stretched and moved to take a drink from the river.

"I will need to hunt today." She let the wolf know, though it didn't seem to have much of an opinion on the matter. She watched him drink for a moment before she realized something was … amiss. He had stopped lapping up water and his ears were adjusting as if trying to hear something. It was warning enough for her to try and do the same. She closed her eyes to concentrate on what was out of place amidst the forest ambiance, half expecting the snap of branch from the weight of hoof or paw. But she did not hear this – no, she heard... voices? Perhaps, it was too faint to be sure.

Artana stood, her bones angrily protesting the motion with a severe crack from each knee and her back. She had to lean on her bow to stand fully and allow a moment before she was able to move. Silence would not be easy today, but this was a hunt. It was of utmost importance to see and not be seen.

Fire. As she slowly moved along the river bed, avoiding twigs and leaves with masterful precision, she smelled a campfire. Her blight wolf friend had noticed it too, his glistening nostrils flaring once or twice. Were there elves at this camp, or shemlen? How many? If they were shemlen they certainly wouldn't be friendly....

"Would you think I'm crazy if I said I _kind of_ sense darkspawn?" One shemlan said to the other, a strange accent to his words.

Artana crouched silently at the base of a tree with a single arrow drawn from her quiver. She did not draw back against the string, was not ready to fire it yet; the effort would cause her arm to shake too much. What was a darkspawn?

"That is entirely irrelevant, no? I would think you crazy no matter what you said." The other shemlan argued, a stronger accent than the last.

The banter may have been endearing, if she weren't certain they would gut her if they found her. There was meat roasting on a spit at their fire, and she had to do the best she could to ignore the distraction it presented, as to not make another sound and give away her position. Her eye shifted to check where her companion had gone – he was silently flanking the campsite.

"Yes, well, ignore that."

She examined them more closely, hand tightly closed around the grip of her bow, though her arrow was still only loosely set on the rest. They both had hair much like her own, very dark – only a miniscule glint of any highlighting colour in the morning light. It was styled similarly on the both of them, all of it gathered at the bases of their necks by white ties of fabric. Their noses were also the same, from what she could tell of their profile – a flat bridge, but pronounced tip. Even past the sight notch of her bow, she could tell these were brothers. Twins, perhaps.

"Well, If I ignored that, then I would say yes. Yes, I _kind of_ sense darkspawn."

There were few weapons around them that she could see. A shield with a foreign crest, though she did not see the sword that assumedly accompanied it. That meant one of them was likely armed. The other …

Artana froze. Not to say she had been moving much, hardly even breathing, but the other man had just looked right towards the tree she was concealed behind.

"The blight is in the wilds, any darkspawn found here would be weak and few." The thicker accented man pointed out, but the other had not yet glanced away. It felt like forever before she, finally, began to slowly breathe again, the man seeming satisfied to look elsewhere. It appeared an itch on his leg had distracted him.

_Thunk._ Artana's eyes opened wide. A dagger no bigger than a hand's length had sunk into the tree trunk, just by her face.

"You think those creatures have come to understand warnings, frére?" The shemlan asked his brother.

They knew she was here. The time for spying was over.

Artana stood swiftly, arrow drawn, and stepped from the shadows. The throwing-knife-twin was in the sight line of her bow. She remained quiet, trying to figure out what to say, and her eyes only shifted to see her wolf friend bound forth from the shadows with his teeth bared to the point of showing his dark-spotted gums.

"This is no darkspawn."

"An observation I would expect of a chevalier."

"Silence, shemlen!" Artana finally sputtered. On closer inspection it was quite obvious that these men were indeed twins. Thankfully, they were both raising their hands. Good. Her arm had begun to shake almost violently in protest to the strain of aiming a bow. She relaxed the string – _slightly_. Not enough to lower her guard. She had no idea what to ask, though. "Why are you in this forest?"

The one with less of an accent ventured to ask a question. "Did you know that you and your wolf are quite ill?" Seemingly mindful that he was at her bow point, he added. "We did not know it was Dalish land."

"It is not your place to be asking questions here." Artana's eyes shifted to check and be sure the other human was not moving to attack.

Seeing her attention shift, the other now spoke. "I do believe we have gotten off on an impressively bad foot, my lady."

She pointed her bow at him instead. "You mock me now."

"No, no!" The other twin reassured with a chuckle in his voice. "What manner of fool would mock their captor? Allow us, please, to introduce ourselves."

Once again, Artana put her sights on the lesser-accented twin. Her silence gave him permission to speak.

"We are Grey Wardens from Orlais. I am Ives,"

"... and I am Jean. I can see the question upon your face, so I shall explain. Grey Wardens fight creatures of pure evil called darkspawn."

"And," Ives continued, "are able to sense the corruption that darkspawn leave on and in things. We are two hundred in number,"

"... camped a day away, at the Orlesian border."

"Do you shemlen often speak like this?" Artana's tension had decreased, but she stubbornly held on to her grip. Her wolf was pacing left and right now, still snarling and growling. Jean in particular kept glancing to check and be sure it wouldn't attack.

The twins responded with a little bout of laughter. "I suppose shemlen must mean human, no?" Jean wondered aloud.

"Then, no, most humans indeed do not." Ives chuckled once more. "Though, we were quite serious, what we said...."

"You are very ill, my lady, and will die if not treated." Jean's face turned quite grim at the admission. "I will not lie to you, I do not know what can be done to prevent you from becoming a ghoul."

"But we hate to just leave you to that fate."

"You speak so much, yet you say hardly anything. You have told me that you are soldiers, and have defected from your troops --"

"No, no!" Jean waved his hands. They were still in a position of surrender, so the motion was moderately comical. "We are merely scouts."

"Spies." Artana's eyes shifted to look at Ives, the one that had thrown the dagger at her.

"... Oui, spies. Ferelden has turned our troops away. You see, my lady, we have nothing to hide from you. But our mission is fruitless," Jean continued.

Artana's amber eyes bored right into Ives, and it seemed as though he could feel it. In fact, he seemed a little... unsettled; perhaps due to the darkening of her skin towards a grey tone, or the dark web of blood writing that may be confused by an outsider as identity-hiding. "... the Fereldens we've found have no idea, besides a hatred of Orlais, why our reinforcements were turned back. You see? Why would we tell you all this if we didn't want to help."

"Humans never want to help elvhen." She protested stubbornly, noting that both men sighed and looked towards each other.

"Here," Ives offered, timidly lowering his hands. The wolf growled and stepped nearer. "Call off your furry friend - I'll place all of my weapons by the fire where you can see them, and then you will eat with us, hm?"

Artana hesitated. It might be a mistake to allow this, but hunger made a convincing argument. "Down, lethallin." Her tone did not demand obedience from the wolf, it simply asked for it. She kept her bow trained on the one naming himself Ives.

"So… It's name is lethallin?" Ives casually wondered, pulling no less than three daggers from the turns of his brown suede boots. He set them aside and reached for his crossbow, showing it to her, then set it near the small daggers. Next, a set of daggers that stored in just one sheathe, locking at the hilt to stay together. They were larger, for combat, and had been to the side that she could not see. Bolts for the crossbow, a bundle of metal wire.

"Lethallin means friend. I would not name something that is free. And it is a he." This man carried a small armory with him.... Though, with the addition of what she assumed was some manner of poison to the pile, he seemed to be spent.

"My apologies. 'He.' There, that is all of mine. Jean, would you care to add to our arsenal?"

"Very well."

As Artana had assumed, the sword that matched the shield was pulled from Jean's side and tossed, with a clatter, to the rest. Only then did she fully relax her bow and replace her things into her quiver. Her arm ached so badly she had to rub it as she neared them.

Whatever had been cooking was enough for four, it seemed. Their breakfast - a time for light things, like roots and berries, eggs perhaps - was meat, a very hardy alternative. As Jean reached to pull the food from the campfire, she gave a hesitant twitch. Jean noticed this and paused. "Would you like to quarter it, or will your wolf let me pick up a knife?" He seemed to err on the side of caution, with some attempt at making the mood light.

You could not blame her for being so nervous about this. Humans simply did not help elves. She half expected poisoned food or to be ambushed as soon as she let her guard fall. "... I will." The decision made, Jean handed her the meat. She recognized it as boar, which was not a creature common in this forest. Meat did not keep well if not dried, so their story must have had some truth. They were not from far away. Eyes ever placed on these men, she dug a hunting knife from her hip pouch and pulled away its leather cover. Four even pieces, one tossed to the wolf. He caught the meat and took it aside to devour. "Why did you prepare so much?"

"Growing men must eat, no?" Jean unabashedly admited. "It was all for we two. And it is not uncommon for men of our order to eat so much."

With the food divided, Artana's eyes shifted to both of the twins in turn. She seemed satisfied with his response, or at least made no attempt to speak of it again. A cautious sniff was given to the meat, before hunger once again overrode caution, and in her teeth sank.

"Must we linger in such uncomfortable silence, hmm?" Ives wondered finally, after a few minutes of nothing but the sounds of the forest.

Artana looked to him. "I have nothing to discuss."

"Ahh, no matter. I have many tales I might regale you with, if you like."

Though she gave no audible response, her eyes seemed to convey, through silent daggers, that all she would like to do is chew her food.

Jean snickered at this, though it only seemed to encourage Ives. He continued anyway. "Well," he picked at his food as he spoke, never taking enough of a bite that he couldn't continue talking around it. "I could perhaps tell you of Val Royeaux, our home city. It is the heart of Orlais. The streets are cobbled, hugged by buildings in a perfect grid, spotted by beautiful open courts – the centers of which are marked by fountains or statuary. This is the nature of the city, except at its center. There the chantry cathedral looms above a gigantic square, three fountains set before it. The buildings around are large as well, important places of state and education. In this square there is a giant open-air market some days of the week. Others, there will be crowds for religious ceremonies. The cathedral has many-coloured glass that sparkles in the light, and casts ribbons of colour inside onto the marble floor. It is set into designs as intricate as the one on your face, my dear, and marvels one just as easily."

This man had a velvet tongue, that was certain. Artana wiped her hands clean of grease on the grass beneath her. "You are a story teller. Like our elders."

"This one is yet more observant than I, Ives." Jean's voice carried mirth.

"From you, this means quite little, my brother. But, your basic sentiment is quite right, I think – though I know but the smallest amount about your fascinating clans. I am what is called a bard. A musician, poet, … storyteller, of sorts."

Artana looked towards the pile of weapons. "And soldier."

"Well, one does what one must."

"I was once a chevalier. It is the guard of our Orlais, the most humble servants of our Empress." With a flourish of his hand, Jean tilted his head slightly in some manner of respectful bow. "A warrior, in simpler terms."

"But you are now … 'Grey Wardens'." She continued, trying to piece together something more about these people.

"Ah, this one I will answer." Ives volunteered. "You see, we are not inseparable. As we grew past basic training we decided to follow our interests and pursue different … careers, if you will. Jean a chevalier, myself – a bard. In those days we were able to see each other again at night, and had much time together. It was only once that time was eroded by duty that we decided we would join the only order which would allow two so different to work so closely together. We volunteered to become Grey Wardens."

"It is not a decision we regret." Jean moved to stand. Artana had noticed that, though he was a warrior, he had not been wearing armor fit for battle. In fact, he was only wearing the mail and cloth that went under the ostentatious armor that he took from his tent. "Pardon me, my lady, for dressing in front of you. But we will need to leave soon if we are to make you well."

"You assume I will go with you shemlen."

"Why would you not? Have we not proven trustworthy?" Ives frowned. "We would not force you, but we would be hard-pressed to leave you here to suffer and die, should we be able to do something about it."

Her eyes narrowed. They had fed her, but her trust in the two human men was not so cheaply bought, with a mouthful or two of roast boar. She could not fight them if they decided to turn on her. She had a dagger, a small one, but did not have the strength to wield it in close-quarters combat. A bow would be clumsy and slow against two in melee. "You will be armed again and would be able to overcome me. You would kill me, enslave me, or rape me. You are human; your history speaks poorly as to the 'aid' rendered to the elvhen."

"Truly, I am hurt, my dear. Here you have not even given us your name and we have shown naught but compassion for your condition. We've fed you and your pet, we have tried to be hospitable. I assure you that, should I have wished to kill you, it would have been done. I do not need weapons to do such a thing, particularly considering your current weakness. I saw the effort it took to hold your arrow. To further disprove your theories, I would no sooner rape you than your canine friend."

"Ives, must you present such … images?" Jean grimaced, clipping closed his left gauntlet. He was nearly in his full attire now, and simply had to set his shield on his back and sword in its sheath. "Yet, my brother, he has a point. We have given you no reason to distrust us."

Artana was quiet. They did speak true words, even if some of the velvet was missing from the bard this time. For what she accused them of she figured he had the right. She looked at her friend, as if wondering what he thought of it. The wolf was merely sitting there on its haunches. In fact, it seemed like it had little opinion on the matter, he was just yawning and licking his chops. It was up to her, then. "Abelas. I am sorry. I will follow you and hear of this cure. Perhaps it will allow me to return to my clan, if I live that long."

"We'll... see, about that." Artana noticed the hesitance in Jean's voice. "You very well may live, heal, and in time find the opportunity to search out your clan." It was certainly the optimistic view of things, but there was another side. His tone conveyed the gravity of the situation. "But it is possible, you understand, that there is no cure. I do not wish to fill you with too much hope, should it be false."

That was harsh reality, but it was also welcome. He respected her enough to not fill her head with false hope. He seemed to think she was strong enough to handle the truth. With her mind being the only part of her she felt wasn't completely fatigued beyond use, this was the first thing the twins had done to really earn her trust. She would be marching along with them in pain, chanting her mantra, as she tried to filter the real sounds away from the haunting whispers. "I expect nothing." She looked up at him, as he was now standing, and then back down, across the fire to his brother. If one is allowed to gamble for a rich prize at no cost, it would be foolish to ignore the opportunity.

"I am called Artana. My friend and I will follow you to your troops."

* * *

Alpha by Sresla of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.

Beta by TanithAerys of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.


	3. Chapter 3

– 3 –

Artana

"You can't be fairly certain about something."

"Of course you can."

"No, if you're _fairly_ certain about something, you're not certain about it at all. You're quite uncertain if you're not _positively_ certain. It's an absurdity."

"But it means mostly certain."

Artana slowly blinked to waking, a groan ringing as she realized the severe pain she was in. Wait – when had she fallen asleep? The twins were marching towards their troops. She remembered several hours of walking.... What happened?

"Ahh, your damsel in distress has woken, dear brother."

"Perhaps because your dizzying logic jostled her."

Artana realized now that she felt her bare stomach sticking to studded leather and hands tucked beneath her knees. As she thought to raise her hand to rub her eyes, she further realized that her hands were wrapped around one... No, not 'one of them', this man wore leather, so it had to be Ives, so – her arms were wrapped around Ives' neck, her hands draped down over his chest. She did not feel the weight of her quiver. "What happened?" She finally ventured to ask, wondering why, if they had been the ones to knock her out, they would have continued to bring her with them.

"Ahh, we came across a group of darkspawn, my dear. My brother and I made to fight, and you … went quite pale and fell over. There is no way to disguise that in pretty words."

"Your… friend bit me when I tried to pick you up." Jean motioned to a tooth-shaped dent in his arm guard.

"He was protecting me." It warmed Artana's heart to know, actually. "I do not remember this, but I do recall coming across a strange beast in the forest before...." She began to try and shift, expecting to be able to get off of Ives' back now that she was conscious again.

"Ah-ah, Artana, I believe it is in your best interest to stay there. You may protest, but you are outnumbered in the vote. Even Lin here has come to terms with my carrying you."

"Lin?"

"Well, you may not name things, but I think calling him vague nothings is impersonal. So I shortened the word you used before."

She was quite outnumbered, then. In one last protest, Artana heaved a deep sigh. As she recovered the breath, she noticed that the air was peppered with a sweet floral note. "... Is it common for bards to have hair that smells of flowers?"

The brothers laughed, though it was Jean who chose to answer. When Artana looked his way to listen, she realized he was carrying her quiver and bow. "Is it so wrong to clean oneself up after a battle when there is water?"

"No sin in smelling like something other than wet dog, no? Not... to say that you do. You smell of the earth, wild and free."

"You think I smell savage."

"No… I think what it is I said. I have had you close enough for several hours now to be able to have an opinion on the matter."

She fell quiet. They were climbing a hill just now, and she was sure even as strong as he was and as small as she was, he must be straining much more than he let on. "My words bring me shame."

"I believe," Jean changed the subject quite swiftly. "It is time to ask if we are there yet, no?"

"Right, right, because we are."

They had crossed the so-called "border" while she was still unconscious, and now as the group crested the hill, they looked down upon a sea of tents. It was like nothing Artana had ever seen. There were plain oiled canvas tents by the hundreds, all rigidly aligned in six-by-six squares, and a corral for no less than a hundred horses on one end of that. She had never seen _one_, never mind a hundred. At this distance they resembled the crude likenesses she had seen, though - like Halla, without antlers, and stronger proportions. Halla for humans, though hardly treated as well.

This was all on one side of a stone road. On the side they were closest to, there were a number of larger and more colourful tents. Several, she assumed, were superiors to those in the white tents, but a hundred or more that were set aside - circular, around a giant bonfire that was lit even in these waking hours - seemed entirely unique. It was too much to leave to her curiosity. "You said you were two hundred men."

"Well, it's no lie. The Grey Wardens here are two hundred."

"The calvary is an additional six hundred, twenty-four divisions with fourty additional men of rank," Jean explained. "They act as personal guard and ally for the Grey Wardens. And friends, I have a number of those among them."

Artana's eyes settled on the horses as they moved nearer the Warden's side of the road. They were still far off, but they were ever more in focus as they crossed the camp. "This is an army."

"It is said each Warden counts as several men, as similarly a mage counts as an entire division."

"What Jean means," Ives noted over his shoulder as he hopped over a trench besides the road, dodging a mud puddle. His words were somewhat winded. "Is - oui, it is an army. An army to fight a blight that's being ignored and insulted...."

"Insulted? The... blight, is being insulted?"

"The army, m'lady. And Ives is right, we have come here on great expense to help Ferelden's King Cailan. But -- your health is more important than politics. We will speak to the Commander on your behalf."

They had been heading towards one of those unique tents near the bonfire, this one larger than the rest. Its curtained entrance was marked with heraldry. There were two creatures back to back that resembled what she knew as lions, but they had wings. It was no creature whose lore she had heard before.

Artana felt quite small as they walked closer, people casting curious glances at her before greeting the twins. It must be obvious she didn't belong, and there was such weakness implied by being carried. Chagrin and discomfort encompassed her.

After an exchange with the guards at the tent it was clear to her that the commander was too busy to see to her at this time. They asked the twins something about a report, as well, but they merely admitted that their mission had been derailed. This served to make her feel even yet more humbled, as they neglected military duties to save... her. And she had been so terrible, really – but how was she supposed to expect this out of a shemlen? Nothing she had ever heard would ever make her think that –

"Hello, brothers."

"Riordan!" Jean exclaimed, "What a fortuitous arrival, no? Perhaps you would be able to help us while the commander is indisposed?"

The older man chuckled. "It would be a lie to say your present company wasn't the reason I came to see you. My lady." The man dipped his head at Artana. She returned the gesture even though it was not her own custom, simply because she couldn't do much else at the moment. "I would be happy to hear the tale, but... Perhaps we should take this discussion to my tent? It is this way."

"I do not belong here." She muttered into Ives' ear as they followed Riordan to his tent.

"Confiding in me now, are you?" He teased.

"My mistake," she huffed.

"Oh come now, no need to be so irate. I was merely happy to see something out of you besides guarded irritation. Riordan is a good man, and no warden here misunderstands you. Thank you." He tipped his head to Riordan, who was holding back the flap to his tent for Ives. Jean helped Artana off his back and the senior warden offered his bed to the woman. More generosity, which she had hardly expected.

"Ma serannas..."

"You are welcome."

Artana looked quickly up at Riordan, suprise marking her face as boldly as the crisp dark lines of her blood writing.

Riordan chuckled. "No, no. Do not look at me like that. I know very little, just what I hear from elven wardens."

"There are… elvhen, in your order?"

"A few. We are from all walks of life. Thieves, warriors, archers, cavalry – any skill, any past, all welcome among we who fight against the darkspawn."

"They even took us." The twins jokingly chimed in perfect time, something that both Artana and Riordan seemed to find… notable, if not flat-out strange.

"Yes, well." Riordan lightly cleared his throat. "Time is always short at present, friend, so you must forgive me for wishing come now to the story that took you from your mission, brothers."

"Artana found us in the forest. She and the wolf both carry darkspawn taint. It's amazing she hasn't succumbed to fate as a ghoul, yet." Jean answered him without hesitation, dutifully responding to his senior officer.

"She is strong." Ives continued for his brother, "In will and body. She stood up to the two of us, even though we could sense the illness in her."

"This much I can see. But now it is her part I wish to hear, if you can allow her enough time to speak." There was a twinkle of mirth in this man's eyes, too.

Artana could merely wonder how these men found the time and presence of mind to be in... well, a good mood – ever. It was as though they knew something she did not and this didn't sit well with her. He wanted to know her story, but she did not want to tell it. Her body was in poor enough condition and today's psychological excitement had made her mind no better for wear. To bring back the terrible day this happened to her..., but it was painfully obvious that the only way they could help her was knowing what had happened. Her hand found some fur at the back of Lin's neck and she began to massage her fingers through it, looking into the wolf's eyes for comfort as it lay there, head on her thigh, looking up at her.

She told the wardens about the ruins, about her Tamlen, about the mirror. With some shame she admitted that her tracking skills had been wrong and that she wandered away from her camp – how her senses were playing tricks on her at the time, and still sometimes did. Her sight would go in and out of focus, her ears would trick her with murmurs that weren't there. And how, when she saw these creatures, she seemed to have a habit of passing out.

"I see." Riordan sat up straight once more in his chair once the story was told. "The mirror was most likely a Tevinter artifact, though I cannot say why such an object would be able to transmit the taint of darkspawn. I fear it may be connected to the Blight, and this thought worries me much more in light of Ferelden refusing our troops. It is… unfortunate the mirror is lost, presumably without being destroyed."

"What about Artana?" It was surprisingly not Ives who brought the conversation back to a personal level. Jean had been the one to ask.

"The only method I could imagine to save her would be mastering the taint within her. As you two are aware, this is only done..."

"In a Joining." The twins realized, again, in unison. They both looked at her, as if studying her. Artana shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what exactly it was they were looking for.

"I think she would survive it, Riordan." Ives argued.

"Survive what? What is a Joining? Why is it something that must be survived?"

Riordan sighed. "It is the name of the ritual by which one becomes a Grey Warden." He explained with both vagueness and clarity, masterfully practiced. Artana was not unaware he withheld something from her here. She would have preferred the harsh reality she'd been granted by Jean in the forest. At least that, she knew she could trust. "To cure you, we may extend this invitation to our order, should you fight for its cause."

Artana knew she must sound incredulous. "Join your army?" She had been carried into the camp with a condition that made her hardly able to stand or draw back a bow, yet they expected her to fight?

"We can only trust our own with the secrets of the ritual. Ives' slip on that subject may be ignored," the younger warden muttered an apology without wanting to formally interrupt, "considering your condition. It is true, the ritual may kill you. Though, if it is of any comfort to you at all, if it does not cure you, the death would be quick."

Her stomach lurched a little. This man had just delivered a death sentence to her with a completely calm demeanor, a steady tone. Was such ready acceptance of death what they 'knew' that she did not? Her beliefs had brought her to understand that death was a second beginning, but that did not mean she wished that beginning to be so soon. What person could hear these things and simply say, 'yes!' as though it were nothing of consequence? She greatly preferred Jean's tone and method of handling such news. "This is comforting?"

"As it is, there is no telling how long you will suffer with the taint in your body now. It may take weeks, perhaps months. But I will have the commander prepare nothing if it is not your wish to join us."

"It would be a shame to lose you now without trying." Ives softly broke the silence that had lingered after Riordan's offer.

Artana looked at him, then down at Lin once more. She wished the veil was as thin here as it was in the forest, so that she could 'speak' with him once more, rather than just get vague awareness of his feelings.

"I will do it."

* * *

Alpha by Sresla of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.

Beta by TanithAerys of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.


	4. Chapter 4

Artana

- 4 -

Artana continued to stroke Lin. She was grateful Riordan offered her his tent for the day, the rest was well-needed. Ives had gone to get her more food and some water to drink. Jean remained where he'd been the whole time – sitting on the ground, an arm propped across his right knee, his left leg tucked beneath him.

"You're still thinking. You've said you will... but you're not sure."

Her eyes parted from Lin's for the first time in a long while. She turned them on him, but did not really shift her body or head to accommodate more than a sideways glance. The low cot on which the thin mattress rested bowed in towards the middle under her weight, so it was more effort than she cared to give considering her annoyance with the question in the first place. "I said I will do it, so I will do it. Why are you still in here?"

"I wish to look after you."

"I thought I was looked after with this new plan."

Jean repositioned, switching which leg was tucked beneath him and which was propped up. As he did so he theorized. "If you had no inkling of what could happen during a Joining, I might believe you. It's not shameful to be afraid. When my brother and I took our Joining we saw a man die during the ritual."

"You'll be in trouble with your superior if you keep talking." Artana interrupted.

"Bah." He dismissed her warning, a jangle coming from the chainmail beneath his glove as he waved his hand. "We nearly backed out when we saw the man die, though we knew there was no option in it. Heh, I mean - someone was standing there with a sword, do you not think it wasn't a warning that we could not run? But it awoke very real fear in Ives and I both, facing death in either direction." Jean was a very animated speaker, each word carrying both accent and emotion that was mirrored by sweeping gestures. "If I am honest, had Ives died and I not, I think perhaps I would have had nothing to live for. Now I see, to think that way is a mistake. There is always a reason to continue on."

Artana was quiet, her hand running back over Lin's head, stroking over his ears. "I was to be bonded for life to Tamlen." She admitted. It was sort of her way of saying that she knew how he felt. "I thought I would save him, that's why I kept going. But he can't be alive now."

"That is a beautiful custom, what you said about bonded for life." He chose to accentuate the positive, to take her mind from the negative. She appreciated it.

This time she looked at him fully. More respectfully. "I think so, too. It is about being more than lovers. Loyal friends...." Again Artana fell quiet, eyebrows turning on each other, as she felt a rush of sadness pull at her already fevered cheeks. She looked back down at Lin and did her best to contain a little wet snuffle.

He gave her time, but there were questions that had to be asked. "Artana... I want to know, as a friend. If you die, how would you … your funeral?"

A funeral? Obviously he didn't know about the rites surrounding an elvhen death. But rather than submit to his ignorance and assume something, he chose to ask. He wanted to learn. For some reason, it made her tears well anew. "Why would you do that for me?"

"I would set you a pyre if I thought that was your custom. No one deserves a godless death. No matter the gods."

More silence. A part of her thought to protest; that it was none of his business as a shemlan. Ignorance served no one well, she had learned that lesson in this past day. But telling him would also mean admitting she would most likely die. No one had lied to her, not even herself, about the chances being in her favor. She was weak and facing something potent that would ravage her body and mind terribly, given the chance. Finally, "How can you bear such heavy armor? It seems clumsy." She chose to merely deflect.

He supplied her naught but a verbal parry. "I will not allow you to change the subject, my lady. Your funeral."

He was stern. Determined. She rubbed a shaking hand to her forehead, no clarity in whether her hand shook due to fatigue, pain, or sorrow. "We bury our dead and plant a tree over their remains." Her voice shook, much like her hand. That, at least, stopped its quiver when it returned to a resting position. Lin whimpered, and shifted as to get a little closer. "I wouldn't ask you to return … my body... to Dalish forests."

Jean did not wish to make her talk while she was so weak, she could tell. She also knew that he was trying to make her feel better, or at least to know that she would not be forgotten. So she knew he would speak again, after only a short reprieve - and he did. "The tree would use your body as fertilizer. It would grow stronger and taller than usual. That's the principle, isn't it?"

"New life from the end of a life." She agreed.

Light entered the tent and she looked up. Artana must have looked gaunt and somber, because as soon as Ives caught sight of her he frowned. There was an instrument of some sort on his back, a plate in his left hand, and a goblet in his right. She heard the clamor of metal and her eyes shifted to Jean. "You are leaving?"

"Ives will take care of you." He clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder, then shifted so they could swap positions. Once he was the closer of the two to the entrance, he tipped his head to Artana. "I will be back for your Joining, my lady."

"Where are you going?" His brother asked, concern knitting his brow.

"To dig up a tree." A little smile and the flap closed once more behind him.

"Planning your funeral?" Ives surmised, kneeling next to Artana.

"How did..."

"I talked to the elven warden here in camp. She taught me the words to a song. There's not many words, but they make a nice refrain. Thought it might help you calm down."

It did not seem to calm her at all. In fact, she seemed to tremble even worse, her face contorting in something between rage and sorrow. "I do not understand."

"Hm? What, exactly."

Her lips pursed, her emotion temporarily bottled. She could launch into a tirade, but perhaps that would be overreacting. "First, if there is another elvhen in camp, why was I not introduced?"

Quite a question. Ives rose a hand, scratching fingertips through his hair. "It sounds as though I may have mistakenly assumed it would be best to not burden you with more company."

_Now_ a tirade was _not _overreacting. "Again, protecting me! I do not see why you people do so much for me! I am not ungrateful, but it makes no sense. I do not know you! You have no guarantee I do not intend to leave the moment I am well, if I am ever well again. Yet I am fed, I am carried. I am arranged for if I should die and now I am..." She found a finger pressed to her lips. Two, actually. They were not gloved as they were before and she found that the pads of his fingertips were quite calloused.

"You were going pale. If you would kindly not berate me until you are well, Artana, I think perhaps you will find your exertions to be _much_ more fruitful." He removed his fingers from her lips and held a goblet to them instead. He seemed pleased enough that she drank, even if she did so with some indignation. "That's better. Now, will you allow me to sing?"

He smiled so warmly. _It made no sense._ She could ask herself why these people cared every moment of the rest of her likely short life, but it wouldn't solve anything. "If it pleases you." She murmured, eyes cast to the side.

"It very much would." He set a piece of cheese in her hand before he was content to sit back and find a comfortable position with his small harp. "I apologize if my pronunciation is not perfect. I had little time to learn the song."

Ives cleared his throat, then closed his eyes. He would not make her feel judged – watched – as he played this for her. This was his gift, his offering for her. Should she die or should she be his sister tomorrow – this was a funeral of sorts either way._ "... hahren na melana sahlin / emma ir abelas / souver'inan isala hamin / vhenan him dor'felas /in uthenera na revas / vir sulahn'nehn / vir dirthera / vir samahl la numin / vir lath sa'vunin ..."_

He repeated the refrain twice. His ears caught sounds of her sobs the second time through, so he did not quiet his harp. One eye opened and dared to peek at her, and he was moved by the sight of her hugging Lin close, like a pillow to cry against. A deep breath, and he chose to sing the poem one more time. Once finished he did silence his harp, however, and put it aside. He moved close and placed his hand on her shoulder, but did nothing more than lightly stroke his thumb against the leather that covered it.

Artana hardly knew what she was sobbing about, when she had begun, nor how she had the strength to do it. Maybe it was realizing that she was as good as dead – maybe just knowing that as far as her clan knew, she was already dead. Or perhaps it was her confusion over the unprecedented kindness she'd been shown. His voice had carried such a melodious, somber quiver in it, the words of the song had meant so much more. The song was perfect; if he'd pronounced something wrong she didn't care. It had moved her to this, to crying out her troubles - to slow, but sure, acceptance.

"Come now, my voice isn't worth all of that." She heard him and knew the tease was as gentle as he could make it.

"Th-thank you. Ma serannas." It seemed her pain had doubled with her tears, but it had been a fair exchange. Her soul felt lighter. It truly did. "You shemlen... Your elvhen friend. I.."

"Shh. You're dying today, remember? Don't get too sentimental. You're born again either way, you know. Live or die. You'd be part of our family." She saw his hand move as he took his chances to wipe away her tears. She didn't have to see his face to see the smile, she could hear it. She could even hear the sadness underneath it. "What I mean is, if you live you're a Warden, no? We're not all sunshine and roses, but we'll take care of you."

"And if I die, you'll take care of me." Her words were broken by hiccups from her tears, though they had mostly passed. "I still don't know why, but I'm sure you would."

"We found you alive, not dead, not too corrupted to save. Reasonable distance from... some semblance of a cure. That's reason enough to help a person. There are few Grey Wardens that wouldn't think that way. Can't speak for us all, though."

"Thank you." She repeated, her voice weak but very sincere.

"None of that." He shh'd her and offered her goblet to her one more time. "You'll be fine. Did you want to be introduced to Dennara now? The Dalish who taught me that song."

Ives did not push her to speak as she thought it over. He played his harp again, only softly, and he did not sing. He was leaning against the tent pole, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. She still didn't dare to think of what had happened. No, her mind merely turned the ups and downs of meeting this Dalish now. There was much she wanted to know, and much she felt this woman would have answers for. It would remind her of home, though, seeing another with blood writing.

She had been so distraught and distracted that something rather important had eluded her. It was not natural for a wolf to be so very still for so very long. Lin had been lying on her lap most of the day. This was a wild animal. He may have forged some manner of bond with her, but if he were healthy, he would have wanted to move. Lin would have eaten, with food so close to his muzzle. His nose was dry. His eyes were not clear. Her lips quivered, and she choked back a sob again. Dennara was entirely forgotten. "Lethallin."

The harp music silenced and Ives leaned forward, concern on his face, knotting his black eyebrows. She looked to him with an expression that could not be hidden by her tattoo. It made his heart wrench clear in his chest. "... I can kill him quickly." He offered, his voice low. "I'm sorry, but that's all I know how to do. He was sick when he found you. I think he's held on for you."

He didn't make her answer aloud. She covered her mouth and nodded, hot tears brimming over again. He knew that was answer enough.

"He won't suffer." Ives promised, moving to stand. He took Lin from Artana gingerly, only fully separating the two when Artana was prepared to give him up. This poor woman. Her life had turned entirely upside down in just two days. He truly did feel something for her. A nod was given and he backed out of the tent, the blight wolf held against his chest. He nearly backed into Jean, returned from the forest's edge with a sapling in hand. Ives shook his head and motioned for his brother to come with him. Though Jean was not happy to do so, he followed.

"_... And that one day, we shall join you."_

The bonfire crackled behind her, the faces of nearly every Warden in the camp encircling her. It embarrassed her that she could not even stand for the ceremony. She sat on chair pulled from one of the tents, her body looking ever frailer, particularly back-lit. But though her heart ached as much as her muscles, Artana's spirit was strong. She saw the elvhen who must have taught Ives 'In Uthenera;' a Dalish much like herself, blood writing of a stretched bow covering her face. She had been a hunter. No wonder she held traditions so dearly - they had outlined her life, her passage into womanhood. Next to her stood Ives, and next to him stood Jean. For a moment she thought she saw something glint in his hand.

But her amber eyes were soon diverted to the chalice held before her. She nodded to the man who presented it to her, the man she assumed was the 'Warden-commander,' and she drank without looking at its contents. She didn't want to know.

As her world began to swirl, she noticed Jean breaking the ranks of the circle, walking towards her arms outstretched, as if he knew she was about to slide out of her chair. She felt the chalice leave her hands and felt the world move from beneath her. The confused blurs that had become her vision went black, the crackles of the fire converting into some horrible roar akin to the murmurs she'd heard in the forest. Finally, all was silent; all was dark.

Artana was certain she must have died. After an eternity of darkness she faced horrific visions of creatures and demons, hordes of death and fire, and ever-more-engulfing blackness. It was not one of these nightmares that woke her, however. It was the splash of cold water that hit her face.

Amber eyes fluttered open to a grinning idiot, black hair curtained around his stubbly face. "Took you long enough."

Her world lurched; somehow her eyes locked onto the man above her's copy. He was off to the right, though his hair was back and neat, unlike Jean. "Five days. Going for a fortnight, were you?"

She groaned and a hand rose to her forehead, then paused when she realized that her head was the _only_ thing that hurt. Suffice to say, she was soon grinning like an idiot as well. A very baffled idiot.

_Alive._

-To Be Continued, independently of "Duncan-less Origins"-

* * *

Alpha by Sresla of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.

Beta by TanithAerys of the Dragon Age Community at BioWare Social Network.

*All quotations represented in_ italics_ are owned and Copyrighted by Bioware and David Gaider. I do not own nor profit from the aforementioned.


End file.
